


See Me

by withoutwingsx



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Dark Thoughts, Dark Victor Nikiforov, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Implied Sexual Content, Kink, Kinky Victor, M/M, Mental Illness, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Mental Illness, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of Violence, Obsession, POV First Person, POV Victor Nikiforov, Pain Kink, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Sociopath, Stalking, Unhealthy fixation, VictUuri, could be interpreted as non-con, creepy victor, lets be honest victor is just a huge creep in this, obsessed victor nikiforov, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 15:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10574286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutwingsx/pseuds/withoutwingsx
Summary: What do you do when you've fallen in love with someone who doesn't even see you.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is first person point of view, and a new artistic writing style I have decided to experiment with.  
> Please check the tags thoroughly if you have any sensitivities to certain content.  
> This is not a positive piece of writing. Be warned.

His eyes are endless pools of amber butterscotch and caramel syrup, and I feel as though I may drown from the sweet feelings those chocolate eyes send through me. But it wouldn’t be a bad death, to die with my lungs full of molasses and my mouth full of unspoken words I will never be able to say.

While the world looks at me through rose-tinted eyeglasses, where porcelain skin and bright white teeth outshines what lurks beneath the surface, my glasses are much darker, and I observe the desire and the cruel smiles they display when they think I can't see. 

He is like a glass of arsenic, he is a scentless poison that is slipped into my drink, and I don’t realize my mistake until my heart is pounding and I cannot breath and my lips turn blue.

But yet as blood gurgles from my throat and spills out of my mouth, is it bad that I hope this is enough for him to finally look at me.

See me. 

 

My brain is a fortress in which nothing can leave but everything awful is invited in. My smile is more fake than my hope that one day I will be more than pandora's box, trapping the terrible plights of humanity, bouncing off my barriers and seeking escape. I was born with a silver tongue and a mind made to hate, and I can’t resist the urge I feel as I see them watch me, judge me, observe me. People are easiest to read when they want to use you, to be you, or to control you. I suppose it’s lucky that not even I, in a way, am in control. 

But yet, perhaps this is the universe's cruel joke, a sense of fairness from whatever deity exists, that I obsess over what I cannot have. What is unattainable for the boy who can have whatever he desires. I am a puppetmaster in love with a puppet who has no strings.

He is a song that I cannot play, a melody with no notes, a piano with no keys. It echos in my head but when I try and emulate it’s sorrowful sound, I am merely left with white noise and a feeling of emptiness that may never be filled.

See me.

 

The first time I saw him it was as if my gray world had suddenly discovered colors. What had been muted and dull, was sharp and beautiful but oh so dangerous, and I was afraid of slipping into the sea of desire that threatened to overtake my shores. 

Who knew the color black could be so beautiful, who knew sunken eyes, pale skin, violet circles that cried a tale of sleepless nights could be so tantalizing. It was as if I wanted to take his cracked, chapped lips between my own until they bled red and I tasted the metallic flavor of his life.

My mind is of one track, like they say of all males, but all I see is messy black hair and eyes full of despair and nothing turns me on like imagining his emptiness. I want to crawl inside his body and wear his skin while I sit in front of a mirror and touch myself. I know to some it’s considered disgusting or sick, but the only opinion, the only fear and hatred that matters is his own. For his emotions, his sorrow and his turmoil, are as delicious to me as his smile and his laugh. Perhaps even more so.

See me. 

 

I could claim it started out as physical attraction, but I like to think that I saw the real him in those antagonizing bronze irses. I like to think that I could see how fucked up he was from the first time he made my palms sweat and my pants grow tight but it’s probably just a lie I tell myself.

He looked as though a strong wind could knock him to his knees, as though the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders, his eyes full of hopelessness and his body a live wire of nerves and anxiety.

He was wrecked from the beginning, windblown hair and twitching fingers, tapping feet and fast breaths and I never have wanted to take something apart as badly as I wanted to dismantle him. 

I want to make him bleed red blood and I want him to drown in my own, pouring from my body, of his own violation.

I am sicker than cancer and I am more vile than the devil but I also am in love, a love stronger than anything good, just or pure.

I would die for him, I would die from him, I would die just so he would finally.

See me.

 

I hear what they say about me. It doesn’t stroke my ego, it doesn’t fuel my fire. For me it is a fact. 

I am beautiful, they say, sexual, tall and lithe, gorgeous and graceful. They say that I am their dream, their desire, they want to be me or be with me, they do not even know which. They see my long legs, they see my long silver hair and my blue eyes and sloped nose, my defined jaw and chiseled cheekbones, they see my soft smile and bright white teeth and they long for me.

But what they don’t see, what they cannot see, is the blackness that lurks behind my baby-blues, the blackness than creeps into my vision and makes my sight go red. The voices that whisper for me to hate and hurt and destroy, which I have heard for years. 

They don’t know of the ugly that is my inside, because humans are easily tricked by a pretty face, kind words and a bright smile.

I have no reason to be this way, no reason anyone would think I would be as I am. No broken family, no abusive father, no cheating first love or absent mother. I have never been molested or forced down, no gory death observed, no priest who put his hands too low. Yet I am sinful, my soul is as black as his hair and as sour as a turned apple two seasons too late. 

But before him, it was merely dislike, distrust, lack of guilt and lack of care. I glided through life as free as a kite with no weight to pull me down. But he blocked out my breeze, he tied himself to the end of my string and he trapped me back on the earth, yet I thrive from it. I wish to be taken apart, piece by piece, and devoured until I have become part of him. Until his pain is my pain, and his eternal suffering is my every day and night, his agony is my symphony, my bedtime lullaby. 

I may have always been surrounded by people who loved and adored me, but the only one I have ever loved, other than myself, is the boy with more delicious pain in his gaze than most have felt in their whole body. Nothing else can make me shiver with desire like that empty, soul-sucking void of a gaze can. 

I want to be a dying, dark, burnt-out star floating in space, sucked into his black hole, trapped in blackness, no light, no sound, no escape. Forever. 

See me. 

 

I have decided that I have nothing else to lose. My every waking moment is filled with his face, and his dreams are filled with his screams and cries. 

But yet I am surprised, as the golden brick road that leads to my salvation is blocked before I can even pass through the gate.

Stay away from him, these words have no meaning to me, especially not when spoken by a small and insignificant stain of humanity, small and frail and so breakable.

This boy is small, but determined, and his words are meant to cut and bite. But words like freak have no sting for me, and they merely glide into my fortress and circle with the rest of the hurricane of hate that has been spinning for forever.

So I laugh, and I smile, and I pat his head, and I know he sees how easily I can crush him, how easily I will destroy him for one gaze of my locked-away princess residing in his tower. My forbidden Juliet, for which I will shed more blood than the oceans have water until the ground is stained deep red just like my smile. 

The golden path shines less bright from up close, and the worn bricks are familiar underneath my feet, but I wander until I stumble upon him, and all I can see are eyes.

See me.

 

He is more beautiful when he cries. His eyes are filled with tears and his face is splotchy and his cheeks are red and his lips are swollen, and there is no blood why is there no blood why is there no blood I can make there be blood.

One step forward and he steps back and I feel like tug of war or a see-saw or a chinese finger trap. 

His eyes are bright and glimmer and where is the red and why is he crying and why has he stopped.

He sees me. 

And I am frozen.

I cannot smile and I cannot lie and he sees right through me, right into the darkness that lurks behind my eyelids and in my deepest thoughts. 

And then I look down. And I see the red. I see the blood.

It’s spilling out like a river of water after a drought and there is nothing I want to do more than roll around and cover myself in his color but I can’t because this is precious commodity and he is wasting what I have decided is mine.

And his mouth forms a no but I am faster and I am quicker and I’ve been waiting and watching for a while.

I see you. I say as his eyelids flutter closed and he’s wheeled out of my life, merely temporarily.

I see you. 

 

Under bright sterile lights and white sheets and white walls and white floors and the smell of disinfectant and infection I smile. It’s a real smile, and I watch and wait.

I am rewarded with fluttering lashes and a hesitant look but he will not meet my eyes and that will not do.

I’m sorry, I say, and other words I don’t mean, and I grip his chin in my hand because he is mine and he belongs to me and he will look at me if I want him to look at me.

He is mine.

And I am honest and I am truthful and I was a little late and I shouldn’t have just watched for so long because I almost missed my chance, but he doesn’t understand right now what I mean, but he will.

His gaze tries to run away from mine but I will not have it and I demand such, what a warm feeling, those orbs looking straight into my own.

This is everything I have ever wanted and he is mine and I own him.

I possess you.

He knows as much, and there is not sorrow there, that I can see, but what could be understanding eventually, and what could be surrender. 

 

And it will be later, that he finally, truly, understands.

It will be with his blood on my lips and my teeth sunk into his shoulder. 

It will be with his body, writhing in pleasure and pain and despair as I sink my fingers into him and try to remind myself this isn’t a dream and I mustn't break him too soon. 

It’s in the words that I whisper that make him cry, make him blush red, make him fear and make him feel. 

I own him. He was willing to give up what is most precious to me, and I found it and saved it and now it's mine. 

His life is mine. His cries, his wails of both desire and torment, his skin, the scratches I’ve marked him with and the bites and bruises that litter his shoulders and neck and chest, his sexuality, the nights I have worked him open like a flower in bloom and covered him from head to toe in a shade of blush, the way his lips part and he pants, his tender, shy kisses but passionate and heated and desperate craving for me, it’s all mine. 

And those eyes. The emotions that lurk beneath his chocolate brown gaze, once empty and lifeless, but now they sing a song only I know. 

His eyes are filled with a deep-seated thirst, a longing, a need for what only I can give him.

His eyes see me, and now I am truly all he sees. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this piece.  
> For those currently following Palisade Prince I apologize for the delay on chapter 2 but it is still being seriously edited and I will not release until I am satisfied with the content.  
> Thanks so much for reading. Please let me know if you want more in this style of writing. :)


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